


Blame

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [55]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe, Angst, Authority Challenge, Bickering, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, I Love You, Leadership, Teen Angst, Trouble In Paradise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 04:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14465343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: After the massacre, Buffy doubles down on training, putting her in the cross hairs of frightened Potentials looking for answers.





	Blame

Dean woke up with a kink in his shoulder and a tightness in his lower back that made him feel older than his thirty-two years. In her flurry of activity after Cloé’s suicide, Buffy had worked the Potentials – and by extension him – all day. The goal had been for the girls to try to pin larger targets – him, Sam or Spike. Many of the girls distrusted their bodies, unaware of how to use momentum and weight to their advantage. To Buffy’s disappointment, only half a dozen girls were able to regularly take the men down after three exhausting hours.

After the sparring session, Buffy had surprised Dean by asking him to stay the night, something he hadn’t done in weeks. They spent the night alternating between holding each other and arguing. She was so tied up in knots, the stress once sent her running to the bathroom.

“Food poisoning?’ he’d asked, wearily holding back her hair as she leaned against the toilet.

“No, it’s…God, I’m so stressed.”

“Girly, you can’t wear yourself down like this. I can hear that frog in your throat. How’re you gonna yell at people without a voice?”

He’d hoped to make her laugh, but even in the dim light he could see tears welling in her eyes. “I have to yell. There are things, things I have to do.”

“And you’re great at all of them.” Dean scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to bed. Curled around her, he softly sang until she fell asleep.

Before dawn, Dean stumbled to the kitchen, where the girl who’d discovered Cloé was eating pickles and staring out the window. “See anything nasty out there?” he asked as he filled the coffee pot.

The girl shrugged.

“You eat that for breakfast every morning?” he asked, pointing at her bowl of rice and pickles.

“In America.”

“Well, sweetheart, I’m gonna make you some real American breakfast. Ever had pancakes?”

She shook her head, her bangs falling into her eyes.

“It’s literally cake for breakfast.”

She stuck out her tongue in disgust.

Wook was quiet, but then she’d been quiet before finding a body. She was a lost-in-thought, hiding-behind-her-bangs, one-dark-lipstick-short-of-troubled kind of girl. Dean wasn’t sure how discovering Cloé’s cold body had effected Wook, but he couldn’t go wrong with kindness.

“Come on! What’s not to like?” he asked with a big smile. “Plus bacon, which is like meat candy.”

“Gross.”

“Pickles?” He raised one judgemental eyebrow.

The batter was mixed by the time five Potentials – Sophia, Maya, Molly, and one of the new arrivals – stumbled in, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

“Morning, handsome. Whatcha’ makin’?” asked the new one. Blonde curls. Freckles. Margo? She’d arrived only days before the massacre and seemed to be in complete denial that anything horrible had happened. She was older than most of the girls and possibly more experienced in burying the bullshit.

“Pancakes for the pickle-eater.” He gestured at Wook who waved at them with her spoon.

“Any for us?” asked Molly, quietly. Dean’s heart broke whenever he saw her tugging on her sleeves to cover her burned arms. She’d arrived with innocent, wide-eyed excitement.

Dean lifted the giant bowl of batter beside him. “Want some Mickey Mouse ones, Pigtails?”

For a split second, she grinned. She always grinned when he called her Pigtails.

But Molly wasn’t the only shell shocked girl. Sophia and Maya leaned into the counter as if they needed support. Sophia had big blue eyes that always looked like she was on the verge of tears. She was one of the three survivors of a Bringer attack in Europe where her Watcher had been murdered in front of her.

Grace came in, waving sleepily at the girls. She hugged Sophia, and they whispered. Then Grace gave Wook’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Dean, no coffee?” she asked with a small smile as she filled the pot with water. “I thought that was why you stayed here, no? To make food?”

“Haha.” But he smiled anyway. Grace – kind, serene, and take-no-shit all at once – was one of his favorites.

“Grace, you’re a saint,” said Margo, tumbling off of her stool in pursuit of coffee.

Maya, her dark hair slipping out of her ponytail, looked like she hadn’t slept in days. For every girl like Molly who had arrived viewing the Summers’ house as an adventure camp, there was a girl like Maya who was not happy to leave her life behind. Maya was one of those girls who had chosen her college before she hit puberty. She wanted to change the world, she’d confessed, by becoming Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. She loved order and process and plans, not the instinct and improvisation required of a Slayer.

Dean piled pancakes high on a platter as fast as the girls ate them. After so much bad news, hunger was a good sign.

Maya reminded Dean of Sam – driven, smart, angry. Over a month ago, when they’d sat down with Buffy, Giles and Xander to decide which girls were moving where, Dean had asked for Maya. Buffy had disagreed, pointing to Sam’s fluency in Spanish and the translators on their phones as reason enough to keep a native English speaker at her place. They’d argued. He’d dropped it.

Betje shuffled into the kitchen, her short blue hair pointing in all directions, mascara smudged under her eyes. Giles, already dressed, wasn’t too far behind.

Betje, a survivor of the train massacre with Sophia, glanced at the pancakes before pouring herself some black coffee. After a couple sips, she pulled out a cigarette.

“Oi, Betje, do that outside or Buffy will kill ya!” said Molly.

Betje raised one eyebrow and looked outside. They didn’t really patrol much any more. The city was half empty, and Lucifer sent vampires every night to spy on the house. Their training squads never needed to go far for a kill. But the sky was getting light. At this hour, any vamps still outside would be in a hurry to get away before the sun broke over the horizon.

Betje pushed the cigarette back in the pack and grabbed a sweater hanging by the back door.

Giles looked up from his mug. “Betje, we can’t be too careful right now.”

She picked up a stake from a crock on the counter. “Anyone else feel like a morning kill?”

Grace rolled her eyes. “I will go with you for practice. Not so you can smoke.”

Betje shrugged and went out into the dim light. Dean and Giles watched the girls from the window, but nothing came for them before the sun appeared. The girls moved into its beam.

“Where did she hide the aspirin?” asked Maya. After Cloé’s suicide, Buffy had locked all the medicine in Willow’s bedroom before working the girls all day until they collapsed around sunset.

“I can get you some in a bit,” Dean offered.

The girl nodded and poked at the pancake on her plate. After a minute, Maya muttered, “Cloé, Gabi, Jabulela, Lys, Naomi.”

“Don’t forget Annabelle and Astrid,” said Molly, who’d seen what remained of both girls.

“And all the girls who didn’t get this far,” said Sophia, rubbing a chill off her arms.

Tears welled up in Maya’s dark eyes. “I can’t even mourn them.” Her voice was a raw wound. “I knew about the vampires and the stupid crosses and holy water. I knew The First was out there looking for us, but I wasn’t prepared for some bullshit Christian angel to hunt us down.”

Sophia laid a hand on Maya’s shoulder, but the girl batted it away, her face twisted with rage. “I don’t want your comfort! Don’t you see? He’s taking everything. Even my Gods.”

“Let’s not jump to any hasty conclusions,” Giles encouraged.

“Lucifer being real doesn’t mean your gods aren’t,” Dean said. “Gods run on worship, so maybe your gods are livin’ the high life in places they’re most worshiped?”

“How would you know?” Maya asked in a hoarse sob.

Years ago, Dean had scoffed at his baby brother for praying, for believing in anything other than what they could see. By the time Sam met angels, he was crushed. Something about watching the faith drain from Sam – the same look Maya had now – stirred up his own latent desire for something bigger than himself. For something holy. “What religion are you?”

“Hindu.” She took a tissue someone handed her and blew her nose. “I’m not even a good Hindu, but it still means something to me. It’s part of me and my parents. It goes back and back connecting me to my whole family. Literally. My mum even tells me I’m the reincarnation of her aunt.”

Dean nodded. “‘K, so I been doing this since I was a kid. Monster bait. Shooting ghosts. Whole nine. Met a few gods in my time too.”

“Bullshit!” declared Margo.

Sophia held her cross to her chest and nearly stopped breathing.

“Sure as shit,” Dean said.

“Like Jesus an’ Buddha an’ stuff?” asked Pigtails.

“Buddhists don’t worship Buddha,” Maya clarified.

Dean resumed making pancakes. “No big fish. These were old European pagan gods. Back in the day, fields of people would be sacrificed to them. Now, they’re hobblin’ along and tricking people to survive. They were weak enough, Sam an’ I could take ‘em.”

The girls gazed at him with a spectrum of skepticism and awe. Giles tried to hide his eye roll behind his coffee mug.

But Maya wasn’t reassured. “Are you telling me you want to kill Kali, because I don’t see that happening.”

“I believe what Dean is trying to say,” Giles interjected, “is that your worship gives your gods strength. You speak their names. You give them offerings. As such, Kali would be more likely to be found near one of her temples rather than in, say, rural Indiana.”

Maya shook her head. “That makes Kali sound so small, so needy. I cannot keep her alive.”

“Does that mean we’re fighting Lucifer because of some damn Satanists?” asked Margo around a big bite of pancake, “‘Cause I always thought that was Halloween nonsense,”

Dean shrugged and added four more pancakes to the platter on the island. “Above my pay grade. I know he ain’t hurtin’ for lackeys.”

Sophia sighed heavily and stared at the food. “God abandoned us to the Devil. How can we fight him if we keep losing girls?” Hope drained from her watery eyes. Wook patted her back.

For a moment, Dean toyed with telling them everything was going to be alright. They’d hit rock bottom, and were on their way up. No more deaths. No more tears. But he didn’t. “Listen, this whole Slayer thing is bullshit. One girl against all the evil in the world is a stacked deck, and I’m sorry fate or destiny or whatever dragged you into this. But just ‘cause the deck is stacked against you doesn’t mean you fold. Now’s when you show those evil sons a bitches what you’re made of, and I plan to go down swingin’.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Maya roughly pushing away from the island. “You’re old. You’ve lived your life. I’m only seventeen!” She dashed into the backyard, Giles on her heels.

Dean turned off the stove and leaned against the counter watching as Maya buckled to her knees, sobbing. Turning back to the breakfast crew, equally engrossed in Maya’s despair, he explained, “Both of my parents were murdered by a demon that worshipped Lucifer. Good people who helped raise me an’ my brother were killed by another one, Meg. Couple months before we moved here, we were going after Lucifer when Meg comes outta nowhere, kills a couple friends of ours, Jo and Ellen. Now, I have two options. I can hide. Hope they can’t find me. Maybe grow old with the ghosts of the dead keeping me up at night. Or I can load for bear and go after it. Second option does better by the dead.”

There was a clamor of feet down the stairs and yelling in the living room.

“Up! Up! Up! Get dressed! We’re going for a run!” Loud groans of protest followed Buffy into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asked with fury, as if she’d caught him making out with a mermaid.

“Breakfast,” said Margo, taking another bite.

“You all need to be dressed and in the front yard in five minutes.” Buffy’s voice was icy.

Other than dirty looks and one sigh, the girls shuffled out.

Her burning gaze settled on Dean. “What the hell, Dean?! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Uh, because you were up all night?” _– yelling at me._

“That doesn’t matter! The Slayer doesn’t need as much sleep as everyone else, and what is that?” she asked, pointing at a plate of fresh pancakes.

“What does it look like? It’s breakfast? You want the kids to die from exhaustion first or starvation?”

She rubbed her temples and spoke in the low, measured voice of adult to irritating child. “Go to Xander’s. Get the girls packed and moved back here. Call Sam. Tell him the same. The neighbors all left, so we might as well save some driving.”

Dean nodded. “Good idea.”

Buffy glanced up at him, longing in her eyes. Slowly, he approached her. To his surprise, she didn’t push him away. She fell into his arms, her head resting on his chest. Holding her felt like holding the whole beautiful, heavy world.

“We’ll be okay,” he said.

“We won’t,” she whispered.

Dean kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Buffy.”

She pulled away, her face pained. “Now? Now is when you feel like you can say it?” And she walked out of the room.

 

* * *

Spike sat on the lawn, the still-odd sensation of sun on his skin, while he flipped through the Potentials’ dossiers. In theory, he was resting. Buffy had used him again this morning as a target for the girls. After he’d been dragged to the ground by Sophia, Betje, and Lara successively, he’d cried uncle. He healed fast, but not vampire fast.

In reality, he was watching Buffy as she barked at the girls. There was tension in her face and nothing in her eyes. He knew that look. It was the same look she wore when she came back from Heaven, absent of desire or care. She’d given up.

He turned back to the trainees. Keisha had only been training as a Slayer for a few months before coming to Sunnydale. From the outside, she seemed perfectly average. Average height. Average grades. The mid-range cuteness most girls settle into. A little heavy, but in full possession of her muscles and weight. In fact, her understanding of how her body moved exceeded that of most of the girls. Coupled with her hard work, she had grown into one of the most capable Potentials, killing four vampires during her three months in town.

She had won the last three rounds, successfully forcing the small but more experienced Ju, then the athletic but inexperienced Steph out of the circle crudely painted on the lawn. Displacing Dani, a win that caused the crowd to cheer, had taken longer. Keisha was winded, her hair sticking to the sweat on her cheeks.

“Get in there, Kate,” Buffy ordered.

Keisha held up her hand. “Give me a moment, a’ight?”

“Kate, go!” Buffy barked. In seconds, untrained Kate had Keisha on her back.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?!” Keisha shouted, her usually calm voice hot. “I said. I needed. A breather.”

“You don’t get a breather in a fight. Rona, get in there with Kate!” Buffy shouted as Keisha slinked away.

Kate Spike knew. She was a mouthy, sarcastic and pessimistic. She had known nothing of the supernatural before Giles brought her to town from Ireland, and she hated every moment of training. Spike liked her.

Rona he did not know. Tall and well-muscled in camo pants and a cut-off tee, she stayed just out of reach to Kate’s right, forcing the smaller girl to constantly turn and use her energy in pursuit. Eventually, Rona grabbed Kate when she lunged and tossed her from the circle.

“Ladies, why did Rona win?” Buffy asked.

“Because she’s trained,” Kate complained.

“Pfft! Brawling ain’t training for vampire shit,” Rona scoffed. Her file said she was from Flint, Michigan, which meant nothing to Spike. Clearly, he needed to learn more about Michigan.

“Kate kept doing same thing. Grab. Miss. Grab. Miss. Rona use to her advantage,” Lara explained.

“Remember, girls, if something doesn’t work, don’t keep trying it. That gets you killed. Lara, since you’re in the know, see if you can knock Rona out.”

Lara’s grin was dark and hungry. Her dossier said she’d been training for two years. She was there when the Bringers killed her Watcher and was still injured from the brawl. Spike pitied Rona for the rage Lara needed to work out.

In seconds, Lara had dropped to the ground and swept her leg under Rona who fell out of the circle.

“Rona, you didn’t even try!” By some miracle, Buffy looked more mad than she had before.

“Why? She got years on me. Kinda like those vampires you’s ‘spectin’ me to fight.” The girl waved Buffy off and headed inside.

“Grace, go get her,” Buffy commanded. Grace did as she was told.

Spike’s body popped in protest as he got up. He leaned into Buffy, speaking low so the girls wouldn’t hear. “It’s after one. How about lunch? Most of the girls didn’t eat break–”

“You want to call it quits, go ahead. We have training to do.” Eyes steady on the circle, she didn’t even look at him. “Molly, you’re up!”

Molly, who was a decent fighter, lasted less than ten seconds before Lara had thrown her out of the circle by her pigtails. “Oi! That ain’t fair!”

“The object is to throw your opponent out of the circle. I don’t care how,” Buffy said. “Julia, you’re next!”

 

* * *

Sam added two more suitcases to the pile that blocked the sidewalk, not that anyone was casually strolling around Sunnydale anymore. The news of the slaughter at St. Agnes’ had spurred most of the remaining families to flee the town. Robin Wood had closed the high school.

At least the buses were free now, and within and hour Wood would be arriving with one to transport all of the girls and their luggage back to Buffy’s. If they ever got the rest of the apartment packed.

_Christ, the girls have a lot of shit!_

Lili emerged from the building, two bags in hand. Upon seeing Sam, she quickly moved to hide one behind her back. Lili, an orphan from Estonia, was one of the only girls who had thrived since arriving. Her eyes and skin were brighter now that she ate and slept regularly. Her habit of stealing had not made her any friends; although, Kimberly had attempted to make her some clothes. She should have two bags now.

So why hide?

Sam leaned past her to hold the door. “Lemme help you with that.” He smiled at her as he lifted the bag from her hand. It was heavy. Laptop heavy.

He pulled out his phone and turned on the translator. “You know we’re just going back to Buffy’s?”

“Are you going to pack?” she asked, smugly. “The girls are handling your books and other stuff.”

Sam nodded. “That’s nice of them.” She knew he knew. That was enough. Besides, she’d get tired of trying to bypass the passwords after a while.

“Hey, did you happen to find Dean’s stash of candy?”

“No.” Lili looked interested. At least he thought she did. She was hard to read.

Sam smiled. “I’m going to check on the girls. Make sure that candy gets packed.”

Lili almost smiled.

Something tugged at his heart when he knocked on the door of Jada’s old apartment. He took a deep breath. Told his heart not to flutter.

“Andate, vampiro!” A laugh echoed in the apartment when Maria opened the door.

Sam was glad they could laugh after everything that had happened. It kept them human. “How’s packing going?” he asked in Spanish.

The girl shrugged. “Do you know how many curling irons we have? Everyone’s arguing over what belongs to who.”

“That doesn’t matter. We just have to move everything to Buffy’s. Sort it out later. Put what you have in the hall, okay? We can always come back if anyone’s forgotten anything.”

As soon as Sam opened the door to his own apartment, a couple voices fell silent. The girls who didn’t speak English continued chattering away, casting suspicious or worried glances his way. He didn’t like to turn on the translator on his phone unless they asked. Let them complain in peace. Dean’s call this morning about moving everyone back to Buffy’s had only caused a surge in grumbling.

Stepping around cots and clothes, Sam headed to the kitchen, where some girls were working on packing up the food. The moment she saw him, Nitika poked Shakti and unleashed a flurry of Marathi.

Shakti sighed. She was tall and slim, pretty in that awkward, alien way a model is pretty, and very, very rich. Servants rich. Summer home rich. Private jet rich. And now she was sleeping on a cot, acting as translator to another girl from Mumbai, one far below her social rank. It goaded her, but like the leader-in-training she was, she bit her lip and soldiered on. Now, the shorter, bespectacled girl had a question for him that she needed to present.

“Nitika wants to know,” was how Shakti usually began, wanting to make it clear the words weren’t hers, “if we still have to train today or if we can attend to laundry.” Nitika was one of many girls who had arrived with one suitcase. Shakti had at least four, and Sam was fairly certain she sent all of their clothes to a cleaner anyway. At least when one had been available.

“Excellent plan!” said Kimberly, slapping the counter. Though certainly not rich, she had also arrived with several suitcases and changed her clothes with her mood. “Spraying sweaters with perfume only goes so far.”

Sam shook his head. “Sorry, Buffy’s orders are moving then training.”

A groan rose from the group in waves as the update was translated from language to language.

“This is a good plan.” He was kicking himself already. He knew some of them didn’t like Buffy, but all of their reasons were shallow. Complicating the issue, most of them were homesick. There wasn’t much to reason with at this point. Still he continued. “It takes how many trips to get you all back and forth to Buffy’s every day? Plus, there’s strength in numbers.”

“Deux filles sont mortes là-bas,” Eva said over the crowd. _Two girls have died there._

A stillness settled over the room. What could he say? That they shouldn’t have gone outside? Been alone? That their futures would be clinging to Buffy’s skirts?

He didn’t have to answer the girls. The door banged open and Dean, his cheeks flushed from activity, joined them. “I got Lili and those million bags packed in the Impala. Should be back in forty for another round.”

“No need. Robin is coming with a school bus.”

Dean drew back in surprise. “Robin? Wouldn’t have expected that dickbag to raise a finger.”

Sam smirked. “I may have said something about him being less useful than Spike. Besides, school is closed. If I play my cards right, he may take up in one of the empty houses by Buffy’s.”

Dean smiled and patted his brother on the shoulder.

“Okay, ladies,” Dean bellowed, “I got room in my car for one more. Quicker we get to Buffy’s the happier she’ll be.”

Solange, an army recruit from Armenia, pointed at Sam.

He knew what she wanted. He got out his phone to slowly recount for her why Dean was there. Unfortunately, Armenian was not one of the translator’s better languages.

The girl stared at him, her large, expressive eyes showing a mix of confusion and disgust. “Why to serve her?”

“Serve? Buffy?” Sam asked.

“She is not a good officer.”

“Whoa, wait a second!” Dean surveyed the room, getting a feel for the tension he’d walked into. “Buffy is the best Slayer to ever live. Bar none.”

“For a lot of stuff, totally,” said Vi. She continued wadding up clothes and shoving them in her duffle. “Buffy beat The Master. She killed, like, a million vampires. She _died_ beating Glory. There there’s all the demons and ghosts and stuff. Buffy’s cool. But The First isn’t any of that. It’s an archangel.”

“Life’s full of firsts,” Dean said.

Eva asked a question in French. The translator squawked, “Why aren’t you in charge? Or Sam?”

“Because we’re not the Slayer.”

“Who was chosen at random,” said Shakti. A wave of agreement rolled through the girls as she continued. “History tells of many Slayers who did not last a week. Buffy was not even trained when she was called. It is nothing short of a miracle that she has become such a legend.”

“See!” said Dean with a smile. “Buffy knows what’s up.”

“But being a survivor is not the same being a leader,” Shakti said, cooly.

Dean clenched his teeth. “You want to say that to her face? Do any of you want to tell the woman who took you in to keep you safe that she’s doing a shit job?”

No one made eye contact.

“Enjoy your damn bus,” he said before storming out.

* * *

 

_God, there’s too much blood._

* * *

 

The house felt quiet at this hour. It had been two weeks since Buffy had spread the Potentials into the neighboring abandoned houses. That had caused the unending stream of bathroom traffic to ease up, which meant Willow wasn’t constantly waking up to the sound of flushing or vomiting.

Instead, the nightmares had woken her. The same nightmare Willow had been having for weeks. She was herself. She was beside herself. Behind herself. She was young. She was old. She was angry, her veins black, shooting out a power she could not control. She was setting Sam Winchester on fire.

Willow took another sip before refilling her glass. The cold water ran down her throat, reminding her she was awake. It hadn’t been real. She was Willow Rosenberg. Powerful witch. Total nerd. The Slayer’s best friend. Friend to Sam Winchester.

As Willow headed back to her room, something outside caught her eye. She grabbed someone’s hoodie by the door and stepped onto the porch.

“Buffy?” she asked, nervously reaching out. Her pounding heart relieved when her fingers brushed her friend’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know insomnia was contagious,” Buffy said. She was trying to make a joke, but the sadness in her eyes wasn’t selling it. A plaid shirt peeked out from under her sweatshirt. She’d been crying.

“Buffy, it’s four in the morning.” Willow sat on the porch beside her.

Her friend nodded. “That makes sense. An hour ago, it was three.”

They sat in silence for a while. Willow breathed a little spell to keep the chill away. _Should have grabbed a blanket._ She didn’t want to leave her friend, but she wasn’t sure where to start either.

Buffy got up and stalked across the street. She ripped a branch off a bush in front of the neighboring house and disappeared behind the palm. There was a cry and a poof of dust. She slowly walked back to the porch.

“How many vampires have you killed tonight?” Willow asked.

Buffy shrugged. “Six? They just watch. It’s kinda gross.”

“That’s gross? I mean, the vampire scale is sort of tipped heavy on grossness and evil.”

“They’re up to something.” Buffy’s voice was hard. “Probably reporting back to Lucifer.”

By now, Lucifer had to know that they’d spread into neighboring houses. No more driving between Xander’s or the Winchesters’. Even Principal Wood had agreed to serve as a den parent. Trouble was, the houses the guys had taken up in weren’t their homes. They’d warded them against angels and demons. Garlic and crosses hung everywhere. Willow had done a few protection spells with her little coven before Buffy pulled the girls off of all witchcraft studies.

“Do you think they’re looking for weak spots?” Willow asked. “What if they got in one of houses?”

Buffy shook her head. “These are spies. Not soldiers.”

“Never been a fan of the war metaphors.”

“Not a metaphor,” Buffy said, darkly. Her words hung heavy in the air.

“What did you do to get blacklisted by the Sandman?” Buffy asked.

“It’s just PMS,” Willow lied. “You?”

Buffy sighed. “Giles called a couple hours ago. He needed a ride. I asked Xander to go.”

Xander’s Potential house was across the street, which explained why Buffy was up and watching. But Giles usually rented a car to drive himself and the newest Potentials home. “Did he say anything else?”

Buffy shook her head.

“We’re not going to win,” Buffy said.

“Don’t say that.”

“This is beyond everything.”

“We beat Glory.”

“I died,” Buffy said. Her face was disturbingly calm. “Let’s say we defeat the Devil – who we still don’t know how to kill – not everyone is going home. I promised these girls I’d keep them safe. I can’t. I can’t keep them safe, or you or Dawn or Sam. People I love are going to die, no matter what I do.

“I keep…” Buffy stared at her hands. “I’ve been sitting here in the dark imagining you dead. You. Giles. Dawn. Dean. Everyone. We have to keep going, keep fighting. It’s us or the whole world. But I have to prepare myself. We’re not all going to make it to the end.”

Deep down, Willow feared the same thing. She leaned over, and hugged her friend.

They waited.

Eventually, Willow went inside for coffee and blankets. They waited some more.

Just past dawn, Xander pulled into the driveway. Giles had his arm in a sling. They were the only people in the car.

“What happened?”

Giles sighed. It looked as if he’d aged ten years. He spoke in a flat voice of someone recalling an accident. “When I got there, they were all dead. There was a Bringer though. Now he’s dead.

“I’m tired,” he stated, heading inside to sleep.

“Are you coming in?” Willow asked Buffy.

The Slayer kept her eyes on the rising sun. “Why?”


End file.
